You drape yourself listlessly in front of your wardrobe and wonder why you even bother trying to think of what new you can wear, and remove what is your equivalent of sack cloth and ashes, albeit in low waist, indigo rinse, with dvb in rhinestones on the butt, and pour your cellulite into it. Look at yourself in the mirror from every angle and then give up trying to rouse some excitement about your reflection and just trot off unhappily into the brand new day.
You pass stores with Sale signs plastered all over their windows with the subtlety of them elephants running amok in flower beds, with your tongue pressed to the window of the car and feel the drool trickling down to your toes.
You see women wearing something you like and are for a moment tempted to wrestle them to the ground and take it off them. You control your impulses with great effort. And find yourself breathing heavily in public places with the effort, eliciting strange stares from those in your immediate vicinity.
You flick through fashion magazines with the devotion that mothers reserve for pictures of their newborns. You make a secret file where you put in pages pulled out of stuff you adore, and which you must buy now or die.
You write down lists of things you really absolutely and totally need to have right now or die, a list that includes a bone handled doctor bag from a brand you would need to sell your insurance off to buy.
You think of valid reasons to shop. Including the rule number one which states that whatever you buy needs to be on sale. And the rule number two. Never buy more of what you already have. And convince yourself that buying a handbag is perfectly valid unless you buy a second one which is the exact same copy of what you already have.
You unthaw your credit card from the freezer and look at it lovingly. And wonder whether you can risk carrying it on your person, or whether you should be let loose on the malls with exact disposable cash in hand.
You watch shoppers emerging from cars loaded down with more bags than you can count and teetering precariously to the lift, and you throw them the fully loaded evil eye quite unapologetically and are quite surprised when the dont keel over immediately.
And you make space in your wardrobe for what will be your new buys. You look at it hard every night and visualise how it will look, filled with your new purchases. You throw out all the clothes you’ve been holding onto in the vain hope that one fine morning you will wake up 10 kilos lighter and many inches thinner and get back into them and rock the planet with your svelteness.
And you start saving. To splurge without guilt.
Perhaps by the time it is time for the festival sales, you might just be able to allow yourself some hedonism.